Kushiel's Dart

found us. Me. He said the house was being watched."
    Alcuin whispered something; I strained to hear, leaning close, and he repeated it. "Password?"
    "No." My wits were utterly scrambled. "Yes, yes, he gave one. The Prince's ring... the Prince's signet, his only born."
    Alcuin twitched, and gasped for air. Joscelin gave him more water, sponging his face. I saw then, incredibly, that he was trying to laugh. "Not a ring . . . cygnet. . . swan. Courcel. Delaunay . . . oath-sworn to guard her. Cassiel's oath . . . Rolande's daughter."
    "Anafiel Delaunay stood as oath-sworn protector of Ysandre de la Courcel?" Joscelin asked quietly. Alcuin's head moved in a faint nod.
    "Swore it... for ... Rolande's . . . sake," he murmured, licking his lips. Joscelin squeezed another trickle of water over them. "What. . . of. . . Rousse?"
    "When the Black Boar rules in Alba, Elder Brother will accede." I held Alcuin's fading gaze, pleading. "Alcuin, don't go! I need you! What do we do?"
    The thread of his voice was fraying, the dark eyes dim and apologetic. "Tell. . . Ysandre. Trust. . . Rousse. Trevalion. The . . . Thelesis knows . . . about Alba." He stirred again, a slight cough, and blood frothed on his lip. Such beauty, ruined; I was clutching his hand too hard. "Not Ganelon . . . slipping. It's the Dauphine." His head moved, and I knew he was looking for Delaunay. "He kept his promise." Alcuin's voice, for a moment, rang clear; he gasped, his eyes rolled upward, and his hand clenched on mine. "Phedre!"
    How much time passed, I do not know. I held his hand for a long time, long after it lay limp in my own, and the final spasm of pain had smoothed itself from his features. It was Joscelin who pulled me away, raising me stumbling to my feet and shaking me. I let him do it, boneless in his grasp, feeling the broken pieces of my heart rattle as he shook me. Beyond the still figure of Alcuin lay Delaunay. I could not bear to look. Gone, all gone, his noble features deceptively calm in the gentle repose of death. The auburn coils of his braid, streaked with silver, lying so seemly over his shoulder, as if no pool of blood clotted beneath him.
    "Elua curse you, Phedre, listen to me!" The sharp retort of a slap echoed in my hearing; I raised my head, dimly aware of the blow, and met Joscelin's eyes stretched wide with terrified urgency. "We have to leave," he said, his voice high and tight. "Do you understand? These are professionals, they took their dead with them. They'll trace their steps, they'll come back. We have to deliver Rousse's message to the Dauphine before they do." He shook me again, and my head lolled. "Do you understand?" ,
    "Yes." I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. "Yes, yes, yes! I understand. Let me go." He did, and I moved without thinking, clutching my cloak about me, the wheels of my mind turning remorselessly. Kushiel's chosen, but Delaunay's pupil. "We'll go ... we'll go directly to the Palace. If we can't gain access to the Dauphine, we'll seek Thelesis de Mornay." I dropped my hands, looking at Joscelin. "She knows me. She will see me."
    "Good." His face settled into hard lines, and he caught my wrist, dragging me out of the abattoir that had once been a library. "Come on."

THIRTY-EIGHT
    Of the ride to the Palace, I remember next to nothing. That we arrived, I am sure; but I could not say how long it took, nor what the weather, nor who we passed in the streets. Later, I saw men in battle fight on for a time after having received their death-wounds. I understood, then.
    Delaunay had laughed, saying mine was an ill-luck name. It amused him, that my mother, Night Court-taught, had been ignorant enough to choose it. He should not have laughed. He had given me his name; would that he'd given me better luck with it. Instead, I had given him the luck of mine, the same luck Baudoin de Trevalion had had of me.
    I cannot second-guess my own luck; even now, I know, had my fate not been in Elua's hand, matters might have fallen out differently. All I know is that, at that time, I would they had.
    Ysandre de la Courcel's Guard turned us away.
    In the past, I had worried about the spectacle we made, I in my sangoire cloak and Joscelin in Cassiline grey. This time, I could not have cared less, until I noted the look in the eyes of Thelesis de Mornay's servants, who politely informed me that the King's Poet was engaged, and like to remain so for some hours yet. Her verses, it seemed, soothed the King, and such sessions